Bones' Heart and McCoy's Head
by E. Jack Sanna
Summary: A chronicle into the moments that sent the doctor into his irrevocable devotion, at the hands of a girl he shouldn't be allowed to even think of.
1. Enter Scene: McCoy's Heart

Needles: As Bones looked down at the limp body of the unconscious girl  
laying on the bio-cot before him, her mane of blond splaying wildly across  
blood-drained cheeks, it occurred to him that he might have taken her a  
little more seriously when she'd said she had "a little problem with  
needles."

Cosmic: Lara watched Bone's silhouette shifting against the window, the  
cosmos spinning around him in some intricate, sensual dance, exploding in  
his wandering eyes like supernovas. After years in space, and after seeing  
things that would overwhelm the souls of the masses with sheer,  
heartbreaking elegance, she had come to realize one thing - their beauty  
paled in comparison to that of a country doctor.

_Ex? Ex-wife?_ Lara breathed past the knot in her throat, a choking hold of  
an emotion that she had no right to lingering in her chest as she watched,  
from the corner of her eye, Bones video chatting with Julia. It was that  
knot that turned his snort of derision into one of humour, his pained  
grimace into a smile. She shook her head, forcing that tide back, letting  
the words of Spock ring in her brain cavity - _logic._ There was a reason  
she was his _ex_ wife - hell, Lara had heard enough of Bones's rants to  
know them by heart, to hear the stinging tones and vile pejoratives he  
saved solely for that woman - and, frankly, Lara had no right to give a  
damn. But jealousy, however misplaced, had an odd way of making hatred seem  
a lot like affection.  
_Doesn't look very 'ex' to me_, whispered that little knot in her chest.

In-apropos: Jim's simple question to Lara is always deliberately timed to  
Bones's entrance of a room and loud enough to carry - it's always uttered  
with a smile. "Jailbait, what's your sexual preference?" The young woman is  
accustomed to being the butt of Kirk's jokes and doesn't miss a beat, not  
flustered in the slightest - so there's no reason that Bones should be the  
one flustered, waves of heat spiraling in his stomach as the Ensign  
responds, "Often, Cap'n."

Underage: Sleepless nights Bones would slink into Ten Forward for a glass  
of whatever poison he needed to get the images of death from behind his  
eyelids and the feel from his stained hands, but there was no drink that  
could send those images scattering like the sight of the girl who sometimes  
sat at the bar, sultry and young in off-duty blacks. She wasn't old enough  
for the liquid that slid devilishly down her throat, and as Bones found  
himself envying the cocktail, he realized with a biting pain that she  
wasn't old enough for him, either.

No Good Reason: Bones didn't have to arrive at the Starfleet class he  
lectured for until 10AM. He didn't have to walk half a mile to get there,  
because his room was located in the Medical building's housing. All this  
taken into consideration, he _certainly_ didn't have a reason to be in Beta  
Quadrant every morning at 7, dew collecting on his cuffs as he took the  
concrete path running through the vast expanse of grass between the Beta  
buildings, over which looked the balconies of those recruits ranking well  
enough to receive views. If confronted, he certainly couldn't provide a  
passable reason as to his being there, among only joggers and early morning  
yoga enthusiasts. But as the sun breached the gap and alighted on room  
1105, revealing the young woman who extended long limbs in the cool morning  
air, soaking in the early day glow, he lost whatever ability he might have  
had to make up excuses, let alone speak. Daring rays embraced first the  
smooth curve of hips, then the convex planes of her stomach and deadly  
knives of hipbones, all revealed like curtains from a stage as she  
stretched languidly, tank top suddenly seeming damnably prudish. Those  
brazen rays then did what he'd never had courage to do, brushing across the  
bridge of her nose and colouring her cheeks, sending a scattering blush  
down her throat. He was always walking away, heart in his throat, blood  
nearly to boiling point when she'd call his name with a grin, leaning  
dangerously over the balcony rail, making 'Bones' sound so good that it  
should have been taboo. There was certainly no reason for _him_ to have  
made her lips curve that way, or her startling eyes alight, or the bridge  
of her nose flush - it must have been the sun's doing. Yes, and it was the  
sun he called responsible for the hot summer lightning that tore an  
achingly lovely path through his heart, coiled and snapped in his stomach,  
and flashed every time he closed his eyes.  
No; Bones certainly had no reason for any of it.

Misinterpreted: Bones recognized the crackling anger that verily radiated from the  
tips of Lara's lashes, the way her fists clenched the transporter room's  
control panel. He saw the way she reeled and blanched as he hauled himself  
from the floor of the transporter clutching his arm, blood seeping from  
beneath his closed fingers, his own head reeling, wondering as to how  
they'd escaped being obliterated on that imploding planet and how Scotty  
had managed to beam them out in time. He saw that anger in the Ensign's  
eyes as she ran to him and hurriedly unraveled the medical wrap in her  
hands, and he watched as she began to stumble and falter, fingers failing  
until he took the wrap with his free hand, grasping hers momentarily,  
feeling them shake like leaves in a storm. He watched as she fiercely  
blinked, avoiding his eyes, working feverishly until the wrap  
was securely tied around his arm, shaking her head and mumbling hoarsely,  
"I thought you were dead, dammit." It wasn't until he'd placed a hand  
beneath her chin and forced her to look him in the eyes that he saw the  
tears, the shock and fear colliding there, the breath that came unsteadily  
and made his own breath leave his lungs in a mass exodus. For all the world  
he might as well have been dead, rather than see the pain there, to feel  
those tears collecting in some chamber of his heart that seemed ready to  
rise up and suffocate him. "I thought you were dead, Bones," she whispered  
into his collar as he held her tightly in, her thin frame trembling  
with all the emotion he had to close his eyes against to keep from  
escaping. The fierce longing coursing through his veins seemed tangible,  
the way his heart seemed to pound in time with the shallow rise and fall of  
her chest against him, the warm pulse of her arms around him, and he  
couldn't help but damn the whole thing and wonder how it had taken near  
death to bring her this close. "I'm very much alive, kid," he whispered  
gruffly into her neck, "Never been more."


	2. Stage Left: McCoy's Head

It's a Virtue: It's a game, a conversation of the kind that people slipped into when they were tipsy and ready to spill all - now, sitting around one of the larger tables in Ten Forward, this game of those who can't hold their liquor is taking turns about the table. Uhura hiccups, smiling cattily across the table to Jim, slurring, "Virtues, crew. What's your biggest virtue?" And the Captain, as much of a dog as usual and amplified by far too much Romulan ale, leans back in his chair.  
"Lust, sweetheart," he purrs, and even in Uhura's inebriated state she sneers, but Sulu, by far the most sober of the group, barks a light laugh and waves a hand at McCoy, who's leaning a safe distance away from the precariously tipped chair.  
"You'd know all about that one, right, Bones?" The pilot cackles, gaze flickering from the doctor to the young woman seated beside him, eyes hidden a lock of blond strayed from its bindings - what isn't hidden is Lara's slight coloration, or the snort of laughter from Jim.  
The doctor's eyes lower, his face darkening, "Lust?" He barks, "Lust is a fucking sin if there was one, not a virtue." He stares at his drink, eyes closing against whatever invisible tide he was battling. "Love's a virtue, but lust..." He shakes his head and says nothing more, but Uhura catches the sidelong glance he slides at Lara, the longing there. There's a silence that stretches, an awkward one, but nobody is sober enough to catch that little sliver of nuance, so they continue, with the rest of the bridge crew's confessions being varied and each as ridiculous as the last - and in the end, they realize that one person hasn't given their shining virtue. Jim grins with a wicked derision as his eyes land on the matching blues of his little sister, and he tilts his head predatorially.  
"What about you, kid, what's yours? I'd go so far as to say..." Jim's eyes land teasingly on McCoy, "temptation, maybe? Lust?"  
Lara's gaze holds defiantly for a few heartbeats and then it falls, and she makes no show of hiding how she glances at Bones, all present seeing how his eyes close for a moment, nobody seeing how her hand brushes against his beneath the table and he grasps it for a heartbeat.  
"My virtue?" Lara murmurs roughly, pulling her hand away, eyes closed. "Patience. I'm the most patient person in this fucking tin can."  
But Bones snorts softly, running a hand roughly through his hair.  
"Patience is a damn sin."

Just the Right Words: The smooth voice of Sinatra slid over the bodies  
moving liquidly in Ten Forward, the tremolo brass and hissing snare  
following suit. Bones leaned heavily back against the bar, safely away from  
the movement on the dance floor that swirled and sneaked like the molecules  
of the stiff cocktail sliding down his throat. Uhura's love for planning  
wasn't wasted on the crew, who'd give anything for a formal occasion, but  
Bone's was nonplussed - the tempo reverberating from wall to wall of his  
mind didn't spark any will to move. Jim might have been able to drag him  
here, but damn it all if he'd be able to make the doctor dance, and certainly not  
with anyone currently aboard the ship.  
Except one.  
Forget it. He stopped that train before it could leave the station, but  
not before the steam had clouded his head and left images, images he didn't  
need, lingering mockingly. He finished off the cocktail in one swig and was  
contemplating his timely escape when, in a slip of shadow and warmth, a  
voice was in his ear. Long fingers smoothly removed the drink from his hand  
and slid it back onto the bar.  
"Dance with me, Bones," she said, and he found the images in his mind  
realized - and standing before him.  
Time to quit drinking, doc. But as a hand grabbed his, he realized that  
this was no vision. The half-smile on Lara's lips told him that; it was a  
smile he had to tear himself away from, a nod his only possible consent as  
his blood rushed at Warp-13. It was like this that the doctor allowed  
himself to be lead onto the dance floor by an Ensign.  
It might have been minutes or eternity - all of Sinatra's songs meld  
together after a while, anyways - but the chairman of the board was his  
wing-man, his confidante. Bones moved with the young woman, leading and  
following, blind with the way his heart broke and mended and ached within.  
In the end, when Sinatra gifted them with a falling tempo, Bones  
half-cursed the way his arms opened, like it was their sole purpose to  
accept her slim waist against his own, so close and volatile - so young.  
"How old are you again, kid?" He murmured gruffly, mind alternating between  
choice cuss words and the urge to fall to his knees.  
Lara took that as permission to wind her arms up around the doctor's neck.  
"Seventeen and a half, Doc. How old are you?"  
Bones sighed and allowed the embrace, arms instinctively sliding to pull  
her closer. "Too damn old to be slow dancing with a seventeen and a half  
year old."  
But the small smile dancing on his lips would have made even the Chairman  
of the Board chuckle.

Cap'n Obvious: (In which Lara determines that Kirk's pick up lines ONLY  
work for Kirk.)  
"What do you want, kid?" McCoy crossed his arms, brow raising as the Ensign  
sauntered to his desk, where she leaned far too suggestively for her (and  
his) own good.  
"Well," the curve of her lips and glint in that smile spoke volumes, but he was too busy damning whatever idiot had created Maritime Laws to notice. Lara moved away from the desk and came  
close to McCoy, who fought the movement of his eyes closing and rolling  
back as her finger trailed along his jaw, his neck, "Doctor, I was hoping  
you'd accompany me for drinks and..." she grinned, trying to quell it but  
failing, not mattering because his eyes were closed, and she tapped a  
finger lightly on his lip, "maybe teach me some anatomy afterwards."  
After nurse Chapel passed the Ensign in the hallway, shaking her head  
through a grin to mock the Cheshire Cat, the nurse wasn't half surprised to see  
McCoy leaning heavily on his desk, eyes closed, a hand running roughly  
through his hair.  
"Again?" She smiled compassionately.  
"Fucking Jim," he growled. "I'll kill him and the 'Fleet won't convict me."

Brighten Up: The explosion of searing cold in the back of McCoy's head caught him by surprise and he swore, pivoting on his heel in search of the missile's origin. A few yards away, Lara grinned and tossed a snowball between her bare hands, cheeks pink from the cold as she laughed. "Brighten up, Bones!" she called, and despite his best efforts, his annoyance melted - kind of like the way the snow melted against the heat of her skin after he'd pushed her into a bank, her hands grasping him and pulling him down with her. "Bright enough?" he chuckled, lightheaded - a sensation that swam into dizziness as Lara leaned in slowly and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.  
_"Dazzling."_

Pillow Talk: Izra gazed over at the bed beside her own, brought out of her book by sudden movement in the easy lamp-light. First there were small whispers, somewhat unintelligible murmurs spilling from the lips of the sleeping girl - the sheet twisted beneath her legs, covers having been thrown off long ago in the sultry summer night, as she curled into a ball and then splayed long limbs, fingers tightening and loosening on the edges, chest beginning to heave. Izra was momentarily bewildered as to what was happening, but then it hit her; the ribs jutting in hauling motions under tan skin, the shoulders shaking, the breath coming in small gasps - the glint of light against her cheeks. It was the same night terror the girl had gone through every few days for months - more specifically, since Lara had been the one to beam down and find a nearly dead McCoy, shot through by phasers, without a pulse; on dangerous ground for days, Christine Chapel telling Lara that Bones wouldn't make it. He had, of course, but her friend had never really recovered from that shock. In the morning, Izra knew, the girl wouldn't have anything but an unpleasant feeling - and if she was to wake her, as she'd often tried, it lead to panic attacks and waking terrors.  
For now, there was nothing to do but watch on, listen on, and...pity on.  
"Bones, please," came the whispered cry, "I love you..."  
A certain sadness weighted on Izra as she knew one thing for certain - Lara never remembered any of it in the morning.

Sparring: It was all very aquiline, so smoothly done that Bones wasn't sure if he paid attention to _what_ was happening, or more _how_ it was happening. Crew members often sparred in the rec room, and it had soon become something of a spectator sport - now came one of the most seemingly unfair fights ever to occur. In the middle of the floor, battle trained Hikaru Sulu faced off with none other than Lara Kirk. It was like a dance - he'd move in, she'd land a soft hit so smoothly that nobody saw it coming until five seconds afterwards, a catlike grace that made Sulu's advanced training seem rudimentary. Sure, he'd land hits - hits that made Bones jump in his skin, nerves screaming to defend her, though she was doing just fine on her own. Those hits were hard, fast, rougher than her own. It didn't become apparent that the fight was uneven until the end.  
A quick hit from Sulu, packed with far more force than he'd intended, landed on her ribs and she faltetered, wincing in pain and standing still, looking all the world like a wounded animal. Jim, at the doctor's side, nudged him hard and laughed, "She's such a bitch." Bones glared at the captain but said nothing, fists clenched white, fighting the desire to go to her, to help her. _Just a spar,_ he chanted in his head, to no avail.  
But as Sulu approached the injured woman, hands held out in apology, it became clear that Bones would indeed be needed - but not for Lara. Her hand darted out and grabbed his, pulling him to her before he could react; an arm winding liquidly around his waist and a swift slide behind his leg, and it was over. Hikaru Sulu, sparring champion of the USS Enterprise, now was straddled, dazed and winded, beneath a smirking Lara Kirk. Bones hands unclenched and he stood, flooded with relief, and...feelings he refused to give rise or name to.  
"Come on, admit it. You wouldn't mind her doing that to you," Jim chuckled, elbowing Bones in the ribs as Lara helped Sulu up from the floor, both laughing as they bumped fists. Bones shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage.  
"What, have her beat me up? Everyone on this damn ship does that anyways."


End file.
